Page of Pentacles

In all his mercy, the page with the red floppy headdress and green frock gazes longingly at the pentacle he guides aloft, hovering just above his fingers, giving off a glow of hopefulness and desire.  He stands in a field of wild berries, some perhaps poisonous, a grove of lush trees in the distance.  An icy mountain pushes toward the sky and a crop of elderberries readies its bounty. I can have everything, he thinks, just show me where it is.

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